


A Lesson In Smutting

by french_crap



Series: Starless Sky [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Feuilly - Freeform, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Fucking vs Love-making, Les Amis - Freeform, Other, Smut, combeferre - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 12:20:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3896092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/french_crap/pseuds/french_crap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan (they/them) wants to write smut but is quite awkward about it, so Grantaire offers a narrated hook up. Eventually, it turns out to be so much more than just that.</p><p>--------------------------------------------------</p><p>“Why would you want to sleep with me, though?” Jehan eventually asked.</p><p>Because you’re the prettiest person I’ve ever met, inside and out, and no matter who you’re around with, you make them feel better, and not only are you sweet and kind and adorable, but you’re also interesting and intelligent and fucking funny and I dreamt about sleeping with you since the day I first saw you.  “Because why not. So I can brag about it.” And he shrugged again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Grantaire was watching Jehan for two hours now and it was still not getting boring. The Corinth was strangely crowded today, and Enjolras seemed a little more excited than usually but whatever he was saying, Jehan was definitely more interesting.

“Badmilk in delicious tea!” Jehan cursed – a very distinct way for them to curse – and dropped their head on the table. They had been working on an essay, or a poem, during the whole meeting, and every five minutes a groan, a sigh, or a blush had escaped them. One time, they had even gotten up and walked around the room, restlessly, without a purpose, only to then sit down again and squeak, covering their face with their hands. Grantaire had not ceased smirking a single second.

“I’m giving up. This is … this is too much.” His wine bottle in his hand – filled with grape juice tonight – Grantaire got up and shuffled over to his friend.

“What are you writing?” he asked, causing a reaction he didn’t expect. Jehan startled, covered their notebook and blushed so deeply that the liquid in Grantaire’s bottle was almost of the same colour as their face.

“Nothing! Absolutely nothing!” Usually, Jehan was a rather good liar, even if they chose not to lie, but right now the heated struggle with whatever they had been writing all night long must have taken their calmness.

Grantaire grinned and fetched the notebook away from them. “Let’s see…”

“No!” Jehan hastily got to their feet and jumped on Grantaire’s back, straddling him, and reaching out for their book. “Give it back, R!”

Grantaire laughed loudly, almost dropping his wine bottle, but shut up when Combeferre shot them a glare. He handed Jehan their notebook back and giggled quietly. “Alright, alright. Jesus.” Jehan sighed and hugged the notebook against their chest, their cheeks still flushed. Damn they looked cute.

“You’ve never been so … eager about hiding your poetry.” That was true. Jehan was usually the epitome of marijuana. Relaxing, expensive, illegal, could make you all confused and sleepy, and could give you the glassiest eyes when being in a room with them for too long. But whatever they were protecting like a dragon protects their eggs, it changed them to someone that wasn’t like their usual self. “What are you hiding, Prouvaire?” he therefore asked.

“Nothing.” Jehan repeated and sat on the window sill, looking intently down to the streets. Grantaire leaned on the wall next to it.

“Oh come on. I gave it back. My honesty deserves some honesty in return. You can’t just kill love with hate. You can’t just thank the flower for growing by trampling it down to the ground. Don’t you see that the beauty of this world needs enforcement? Encouragement?! Don’t you agree that every act of kindness should-”

“Okay! I tell you!” Jehan stopped him, knowing that if they hadn’t, the monologue would have continued for at least ten minutes. They pursed their lips, clicked their tongue a few times and then sighed: “I’m … I’m writing this fanfiction.”

Grantaire smirked and plopped down on the window sill next to Jehan, patting their knee. “Alright. And? Where’s the problem?” It wasn’t like this was some sort of shocking news or came as the revelation of a big secret. Courfeyrac, Bahorel and Musichetta, all of them had their own accounts on a certain prominent website for their writing stuff and even Combeferre had been caught several times reading fanfictions between his classes.

Jehan took a deep breath. “I don’t know how to write the … smut.” They pulled their legs to their chest and hid behind their knees. If this wasn’t so funny, Grantaire would have almost felt bad for his friend.

“Smut?”

“Smut. There’s this sex scene I need to write, but I just … I just don’t know how. Do you feel me?”

Grantaire shook his head, still smirking.

“It’s just…” Jehan huffed with frustration. “There are all these words, and they’re all so beautiful, because words are generally very beautiful but then there’s just this scene and I don’t know how, and, like, where, and what the dandelion are they doing? Where are their arms, and legs, how appropriate is it to describe their exact position without making it un-sexy, and how am I supposed to call their … things and why is it so terribly awkward to say who’s on top? This morning I thought, concentration, Jehan, we’re going to get this done. It’s absolutely natural and there is nothing to be ashamed of. And then I sat down and just what the frickityfrickfraddle! Is that supposed to be so complicated and hot and steamy and sticky and … and member?! Isn’t member the most awkward word of all? But dick sounds so rude and cock so British and I swear to the stars, I tried three times to write 'He shoved is banana into that juicy avocado’ but it’s simply not very … elegant.” They took at deep breath and let out a long, agonized whine.

Grantaire, who had held his stomach from laughing for the good first part of that word-vomit calmed down and tilted his head to the side, smiling almost curiously. “Are you a virgin?” he asked as Jehan resumed playing dead turtle behind their knees. He had never asked himself that question. Although Jehan could go from Eva Green in The Dreamers to Felicia Day in Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog in two minutes only by adding eyeliner, they had never really shown any sign of attraction towards anyone. Everyone was, or had been, secretly in love with Jehan at least once, but Jehan themself had never reciprocated any form of affection. Or had they? “Not that it matters. You don’t need to have sex to know how it looks like, and even if you still have it, you can still be awkward writing about it, right?”.

Jehan merely shook their head. “I’ve made love before.” they sighed. “It’s just … it just all sounds more beautiful in my head.” Grantaire nodded, and he couldn’t help but feel a little proud for having been shared such a secret with.

“I could help you.” he offered tentatively.

“How?”

Trying to keep his smirk as cheeky as it usually was and not to show how it hurt to see his friend so upset over this, Grantaire shrugged: “I could narrate it when we fuck.”

A giggle left Jehan’s lips and they grinned up at Grantaire until they realised that Grantaire was being completely honest. “What?”

“What what?”

“Really now?!”

Grantaire shrugged again. “Really now.”

A long silence followed, in which the only noise was Feuilly arguing with Combeferre about how the philosophy of certain ideals were all nice and good but useless if not applicable when put into practice.

“Why would you want to sleep with me, though?” Jehan eventually asked.

Because you’re the prettiest person I’ve ever met, inside and out, and no matter who you’re around with, you make them feel better, and not only are you sweet and kind and adorable, but you’re also interesting and intelligent and fucking funny and I dreamt about sleeping with you since the day I first saw you. “Because why not. So I can brag about it.” And he shrugged again.

Jehan kept quiet for another moment. Grantaire knew that they knew what all this shrugging meant.

You can only fail if you actually try. And not caring means not trying and not trying means to not be a failure … for once. 

Jehan understood that Grantaire cared a whole lot of deal about them. They didn’t need words to see right through people. And so they leaned forward and pressed a kiss on Grantaire’s cheek. “Alright. But not tonight. I don’t like drunk sex.” they said softly as they closed their notebook and stuffed it into their Ramona Flowers handbag.

Grantaire bit his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, tomorrow, then.”


	2. Chapter 2

When Jehan came home a few hours later, they quickly stripped off their clothes and let water into their bathtub. After all, they still had more than seven bath bombs to test for Courfeyrac. But before they could get a foot into the water, the door rang. A bathrobe wrapped around them, they went to open it and found – and this will come as a surprise to absolutely no reader – Grantaire.

“Grantaire, no.” Jehan said immediately. “I’m not sleeping with you if you’re drunk.” Even if they loved those dark, deep-set eyes and had wanted to feel those chapped, shapeless lips on their skin for so long. It would have to wait another night.

But Grantaire shook his head. “I’m not drunk. Actually … I’m not drinking at all anymore.”

Jehan’s eyes flicked to the bottle that was still in his hands.

Grantaire saw the glance and took a shaky breath, giving it to Jehan. Not knowing what to do with his hands now, though, he clumsily crossed his arms over his chest. “Grapejuice.” he explained, his voice hoarse, his eyes darting to the side as if to avoid Jehan’s gaze. “Ha, funny, isn’t it? Me, trolling everyone. Some people put vodka in their water bottle, and I'm putting fucking juice in my wine bottle. … Fucking funny.”

Jehan tilted their head to the side and watched him, watched him looking so uncomfortable, so miserable, so lonely. Taking him by the hand, they guided him inside to sit on their couch. Grantaire still couldn’t hold their gaze, just stared at the bottle that stood on the couch table now, appearing even paler than usually. They didn’t ask or forced him to speak, and thus, incapable of giving a witty nonsense-reply, Grantaire eventually continued his explanation.

“I don’t … I don’t want anyone to know that I’ve stopped drinking. ‘Cause what if I fuck up, y'know? What if I tell everyone and they’re all fucking happy for me, and congratulate me, and pat my shoulders, 'n all that shit, and then I all disappoint them. I’m a fucking disappointment and I don’t want that shit anymore. So I’m not telling'em, y'know. So they don’t think it’s their stupid business or they need to take care of me, or some bull. If I’m not tellin'em they can’t see me as a failure again, right? Because I am a fucking failure but at least I’ll be a failure alone. As always. I know I am. It’s not like I’ll actually make it. So I can just … just go back to drinking without anyone giving me shit for it.”

A soft hand was put on his fist and he looked up at Jehan, and for the first time since Jehan had met him, there was absolutely no sign of a smirk on his face.

A quiet, melancholic smile played around the corners of Jehan’s lips. They had always seen Grantaire’s bitten fingernails, bloody lips and black circles around his eyes, and to some degree they had probably suspected it all to be small signs of a bigger, much uglier picture, suspected the laughs and long, sarcastic monologues to be pure distraction from how he really felt, but they had refused to really think about it. They had been as blind as everyone else. But it made sense now. Of course it did. So much more sense.

“Fuck.” Grantaire closed his eyes. “You don’t have to sleep with me. I get why … why you wouldn’t. I’m pathetic. I get why no one else ever does. I get why he’s not even looking at me with his ass and why Combeferre only ever glares and sighs at me. And you’re literally the pure beauty of everything good in this world and … and fuck …” Jehan waited for him to recollect himself. “Just … just know that I’m not drunk.”

They nodded. Grantaire wasn’t here to simply have someone make him cum, Grantaire was here because he needed someone to trust with his secret. He needed love. Not just for the person he pretended to be, but for the person he had, until now, always hidded in the shades of his grins and bad jokes. He needed warmth and honest kindness, and the reassurance that he wasn’t alone. Because he wasn’t alone. Jehan would never let him suffer alone.

They leaned in and softly kissed his lips. Grantaire blinked, looking at them in confusion.

“You’re beautiful.” they murmured.

“I’m really not.” he huffed, his fingers unconsciously moving to the scars on his face. Jehan’s hand followed them and rested on Grantaire’s cheeks.

“You are beautiful. You have the warmest soul of them all. You’re kind, and honest, even when you lie. You’re selfless, and the best friend anyone could have.” Grantaire didn’t reply but this time he held Jehan’s gaze, trying to understand what they meant. “Remember when Combeferre got hurt in a protest and you spent your night at his hospital bed to make sure he wouldn’t panic when he’d wake up? Remember when Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta got sick and you nursed them through the flu although you ended up in bed with a fever yourself? And do you remember when you got in a fight with that police officer because he wouldn’t let Bahorel alone because they considered a 'man’ in women’s clothing an offense and wouldn’t let her into the cinema? You sacrificed your health so many times for your friends, and now you’re trying to become healthy yourself. You don’t have to let anyone know, nor do you have to feel bad about refusing to tell them, but know that if you did tell them, they would never judge you for ... failing, as you call it. It’s not failing, and you’re not a failure. You’re beautiful and you’re working on getting your body healthy, too. And no matter how many attempts you need, your friends will be there for you and hold you whenever you need it. I believe in you, from all my heart, and I know that you can do it. Whether you’re doing it alone, or with everyone knowing about it.”

Grantaire clumsily grabbed the hands Jehan had so softly placed on his face, holding them as if he was scared they’d leave now. As if this was a dream, and he needed to keep himself asleep, or it would all fade away. His eyes had filled with tears and when Jehan finished speaking a 'fuck’ had left his lips.

“Now, I’m not Enjolras, and I’m not Combeferre either, and maybe those words would mean more if they came from them, but I love you. To me, you’re absolutely beautiful. You’ve always been.” So many more words floated around Jehan’s mind in this very moment, but none of them were good enough to describe how much they wanted Grantaire to be fine. And so they placed another soft kiss to Grantaire’s lips, running their hands through his hair. Grantaire kept still, gripping onto them tightly, as if wondering what exactly he had done to receive this kindness.

“Prouvaire?” he asked when Jehan started placing little kisses on every single one of the scars on his face. Each of those kisses were light and careful, their touch barely real enough to make the gesture more important that the contact of the skin. Grantaire’s eyes fluttered shut and he leaned his head back, exposing his neck. “How inappropriate is it to tell you now how badly I want you to fuck me?”

“If you narrate…” Jehan mumbled against the skin on his neck, chuckling a little, “I always wanted to make love to you.”


	3. Chapter 3

Grantaire laughed and fell back on the couch, his hands finally moving again, they slipped into Jehan's bathrobe, feeling their soft, white skin. He tried to be his usual self again, to shake off the awkwardness that came with being honest about his own feelings, and Jehan didn’t mind. They knew how fragile that little heart inside Grantaire’s chest was now, and they’d do everything to keep it safe to help it heal. “Right. Because Prouvaire doesn’t fuck. Prouvaire makes love.” he snorted, grabbing Jehan’s ass with his rough boxer hands, squeezing a surprised gasp out of Jehan’s lips.

“Grantaire…” they said, flushing and pausing before continuing to open his shirt, button by button.

“No, Prouvaire prefers to be careful. To place kiss after kiss on my chest until they can finally get rid of my shirt. Ah, and what a beautiful chest, innit? Full of ugly scars and marks, and drunk tattoos, and still Prouvaire manages to look at them as if they find them beautiful, kissing them with so much softness that it almost looks like they really … like they really like that sight…” He paused, perplexed, just for the split of a second. “Anyway… Oh, look, they kiss down to the hem of my jeans. I think I’m going to help them, because their beautiful body is already hovering naked over me and I feel stupid for being all dressed, so … there you go … no pants. Hey, Prouvaire, do you know that you look really beautiful? Not that I wondered all too often about how you looked without all your layers of clothes on but, hah! H-h-okay, that will be a hickey on my h-hipbone. The mark of Prouvaire’s l-lips, I should go and make a tattoo out of that. I’d wear it like a troph-..! Sh-..!”

Jehan looked up at Grantaire who had thrown his head back so suddenly that his narration was cut off. Their long, thin fingers drove up and down Grantaire’s waist and it was indeed a beautiful sight from down here to see his chest well up as his breath racing up.

“Those fingernails, shit, Prouvaire. I didn’t see that coming.” he cleared his throat and crossed his arms behind his back, grinning an overdone indifferent grin, but they saw his breath hitching and they knew that Grantaire was everything, but indifferent to what they were doing.

“Continue. I’m perfectly fine. So, ah, it’s the underwear’s turn, oh, or not, nope it’s not. Prouvaire decides to go even l-lower, hgn, wh-… what are you, hah! Is, what, P-prouvaire are you giving me h-hickeys on my inner thigh? Sh-.. Okay, y-yes, I like your lips, b-but how about going back to the underwear, huh? Didn’t you want to … to you know, resume what you were doing, I mean, it’s not like I need you to g-go, shit, fuck, okay, heh, another hickey, alright. It’s not like I’d really like to flip you over, so I can hold you down and- Fuck! Prouvaire…”

Jehan, who had started mouthing him through his underwear moved up to his neck again, and they immediately felt a desperate hand in their hair, and a hand on their ass. But this time it wasn’t just a playful grab to make him flustered, this time Grantaire pushed their hips together urgently. He had closed his eyes and bit down on both of his lips.

“What is it, R?” Jehan smiled, freeing his lips from his teeth by sucking at it, and rolled their hips against Grantaire’s, which pushed a moan out of his throat. “Are you already too close to the edge to stop with your narration?” Grantaire only managed to shake his head.

“Give me a second then.” Jehan smiled and got up, disappearing in the bathroom. Grantaire’s bitten-off nails dug into the couch underneath him and he tried to relax. Oh, it was an act of self-control not to palm himself. He saw how achingly hard he was and almost laughed at himself. A few kisses from such a sweet person and he was already as soft as warm butter … Interesting.

“Never did I think that your lips could do that to me.” he said quietly, trying to regulate his breath. “I always liked you, I always liked the idea of your tongue trailing over my body like you just did, sucking and nibbling, but I didn’t … I never thought … Well, the fact that you actually do it, is a little bit, I don’t know, overwhelming.” He kept his eyes closed. “Ah, hi, you’re back. And now you’re brushing off my underwear. Thanks. It was getting tight in there. I don’t even want to know where you put them. Your apartment is so beautiful, my mere presence makes it ugly, doesn’t it? Ah! That’s cold, what… is that… lube, yes. And you put the rubber on me with your teeth, oh- hah! Al…r-r-right. I can totally still cool down. I’m not absolutely needy to be fucked right now. Especially not because I know that you’ll be riding me. Fuck! Your lips! Fuck, feel my heart, Prouvaire, feel how it beats. Come up to me, please, please, I need your lips on mine again.”

Jehan followed and met his lips, only brushing their own lightly over his. They looked at him, him and his dark eyes as they opened for them. There was nothing left of the pain, nor of the careless cynicism, there was only a silent expression of admiration and Jehan was scared to look away, scared that they might never see it again. The strange but beautiful feeling to hear his bare body underneath their own, his hardness against his own, reminded them that this was real, and it was as if the stars aligned.

“Fuck me.” Grantaire said quietly but Jehan shook their head. They dipped Grantaire’s finger into the lube and guided them back to their ass.

“It’s too late. I can’t do anything but make love with you now.” They straddled Grantaire and leaned forward to press another, deeper, more needy kiss on his lips, sucking his tongue, their free hand running through Grantaire’s black curls, pulling them, and Grantaire understood, he brushed Jehan’s entrance, giving them chills, and then got one finger in. Two, he curled them, three, and Jehan bit down on his lips, letting out a moan and abruptly pushed their pelvis back to feel him more. The motion let Grantaire forget all of his senses, Jehan was still sitting on him after all. The small body of that great person had an impact on him that was far bigger than he could have ever imagined, and letting out loud, shaky breaths he began rutting against Jehan. But they stopped him with a hand on his lower abdomen and Grantaire groaned in frustration. This was torture.

“Only if you talk.” Jehan said and it was in the quiver of their lower lip when they smiled that Grantaire realised that they were themself trying not to lose control.

“Fine.” Grantaire grunted. Hurriedly he tried to find words, tried to find his voice. “I need you. I need you now. Please, please, please fuck me and please, please, please let me come in you, let me replace my fingers with my rude dick, with my British cock, please, fuck, I need to feel you.” He moaned when Jehan followed his words with actions. They sat up slowly, their delicate hands on Grantaire’s chest, and when their weight pushed down on his erection, Grantaire clasped their waist desperately. 

When he started moving them along to the motions of his own hips, everything was slow, respectful, beautiful. It wasn't selfish, it wasn't lonely, it wasn't just another fuck.

Stifling moans Grantaire resumed his promised narration. “You’re an angel, an eidolon, a f-figure of pure love, hah, even your flushed cheeks, even your hair falling out of your bun, even your own pre-cum dripping on my stomach, h-ha, ngh…” He took them into his hand and Jehan let out a hum of pleasure, the rocking of their hips accelerating, their nails digging deeper into Grantaire’s chest, a pain that only brought him closer and closer to the edge.

He stared up at their beauty, still smiling. Their breaths were short, loud, quick. Suddenly Jehan threw their head back. Moans of desperation. The rocking of their hips became harsh and demanding now.

Grantaire lost himself.

When he found himself again, he saw Jehan still rocking their hips, but slower now, calmer, and appearing the white traces of cum on his stomach he understood.

“You’re still smiling.” he said with a hoarse voice, “You’re still beautiful. How do you do that?”

Jehan chuckled in quiet contentment, panting out a few, deep breath, resting, before combing his streaks of hair out of his face, carefully getting up, taking the condom and wrapping it into a paper tissue, and then lying down on Grantaire. He was warm, and the mix of chubbiness and muscles was perfectly comfortable.

“Don’t you want to clean us up first?” Grantaire asked hesitantly. He wasn’t used to cuddling after fucking. Usually his partners fucked off before he could even really come down from his orgasm. And he surely didn’t except to see Jehan’s precious, tiny white body against his dark, dirty-looking one after they had gotten what they wanted. But again, Jehan merely chuckled and shook their head.

“I let myself a bath in, we can still clean up in a minute or two. But right now, I just want to be close to you.” they said softly and nestled into Grantaire’s arms. He nodded and let them, kissing the top of their head.

“It was surprisingly hard to narrate our fu-… love making.” he admitted. “You were a little … distracting.” Jehan laughed.

“Next time, I’ll do it.” they said playfully. Grantaire smirked. Next time.

“You will narrate? Will our tongues battle for dominance?”

Another laugh escaped Jehan and they gently smacked Grantaire’s chest. “Exactly that. Except that it will gain a complete new meaning.”

Grantaire grinned and kept silent for a moment. “I understand now, you know.” he finally said, almost in a whisper.

“Mh?”

“I get why it’s not fucking with you. Why it’s … y'know, love'n shit.”

Jehan lift their head to look at him. Grantaire smiled a little.

“It’s more … honest. It’s not just cuming and going. It’s wanting to see the other person happy. It’s sharing a moment, and not just having a moment on top of another person. It’s…”

“It’s love.” Jehan finished his sentence. Grantaire stayed silent again. After a moment he looked at them again.

“Do you love me?”

“In some ways.” they replied.

Grantaire nodded, closed his eyes and sighed. At least that was more than most people did. And maybe it was all he needed for now.


End file.
